


Allegretto

by niesbixby



Series: Con Moto [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes, Talent Shows, tiny!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niesbixby/pseuds/niesbixby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The date actually happens. Yes, I'm just compressing two of my works into one, but it needed to happen.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In Which Steve is a Bored Accompanist and Bucky is a Violinist  
Audition AU  
Steve Rogers forces on a smile as yet another fourth grader carrying the sheet music for Fur Elise walked onto the stage and handed him the accompaniment. Why was it always Fur Elise? Could it never be something different? Steve was just about ready to strangle whoever had written that stupid song. He blows his bangs out of his face, nods at the kid, and starts playing his part.  
Surprisingly, everything goes well for the first few bars. Until the kid starts playing. The boy has absolutely no skill with the viola, and it screeches uncontrollably. He also has no notion of rhythm or tempo, meaning that Steve has to be constantly shifting his speed to match the violist’s.  
Three agonizing minutes later, the kid bows awkwardly and leaves the stage, sheet music in hand. Nick Fury, the director of the competition, makes some notes on his legal pad and glances at Steve. “You want to take a break?” Fury asks, then glances over at his assistants, Coulson and Hill. He didn’t think anyone knew their first names, and so everyone addressed them by their surnames if at all.  
“Sure,” Steve says, hating how thin his voice sounded in the large auditorium. “Say, five minutes?” Fury nods and everyone disperses to get a drink, smoke a cigarette, or eat something. Meanwhile Steve closes the lid of the baby grand and leans his head against the sheet music stand. If he had to listen to one more kid playing Fur Elise or god forbid, Moonlight Sonata, he was going to walk out.  
Someone clears her throat, and Steve looks up. A short, red haired woman was standing in front of the piano, looking down at him with disapproval in her eyes.  
Okay. That was kind of creepy. He was absolutely sure he hadn’t heard anyone come in.  
“Hey, Natasha,” he says. “What are you doing here?”  
Natasha Romanov smirks at him. “What do you think? I came to watch you play for all the little kids.”  
“Why would you do that?”  
“Clint’s busy with work.”  
Steve props his head up with a fragile wrist. “Oh, gee. That sure makes me feel good about myself. Thanks so much for deigning to grace me with your presence. See anyone with potential back there?”  
Natasha bites her lip. “Two little kids, a really old guy with a clarinet, and Bucky Barnes.”  
Steve tilts his head. “Who’s that?”  
She gives him a look. “You’re kidding.”  
“No, seriously. Who’s Bucky Barnes?”  
Nat sits down on the edge of the bench. “The guy is legend in some circles. He’s supposed to be a former FBI agent who went renegade during the whole New York incident. No one saw him for two months and then suddenly he just turns up at FBI, hands in his badge, and leaves. He moves to Brooklyn, shuts himself up in an apartment, and teaches himself the violin. Not only does he get so good at it he could do concerts, he starts composing. Some god awful stuff at first, but it’s really good now.”  
“You seem to know an awful lot about him,” Steve comments.  
“Hell yeah I do. He’s my roommate.”  
He straightens. “Your roommate is the stuff of legend? The loud one who managed to burn down the kitchen last month?”  
Nat shrugs. “I never said he contributed to society.”  
“And when you say he’s legend in some circles, you mean?”  
“Mostly SHIELD agents who stand outside our apartment 24/7. I chased them off with a fire extinguisher.”  
Fury coughs from his perch at the table in the back of the auditorium, startling Steve. “Social hour’s over, Rogers,” he shouts. “Let’s get the next one out here. Natasha, get out of the way.” Natasha stands up moves to the edge of the stage.  
How does Fury know Natasha? Steve wonders as he prepares for the next contestant.  
Bucky Barnes doesn’t come out until the very end, after two screeching renditions of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Three Blind Mice, and an old man in glasses playing a clarinet. No one has stuck out in his mind as particularly special, and he thinks privately that unless Barnes really is some kind of genius that Fury is going to have a hard time picking someone out of the sea of mediocrity.  
Barnes walks onto the stage, and from the back he looks pretty average, nothing particularly special. Just a guy of average height with brown hair and a violin case. He kneels and removes the violin and two sets of sheet music, then stands and walks over to Steve, and it’s like he’s been struck with a bolt of lightning.  
Because Bucky Barnes is absolutely gorgeous. He’s got these electrifying blue eyes that see right through Steve and long legs and he walks like a god damn fencer. It’s not like Steve can do anything about it. Bucky hands him a set of sheet music and starts speaking and suddenly Steve forgets where he is or why this guy is handing him papers because if his face is nice, his voice is absolutely magnetic. Steve shakes himself and forces himself to listen to what Bucky is saying.  
“I’m sorry about this piece,” he says. “The accompaniment is really strange and it’s probably a load of shit but I got nothing else to play for you all today.” He starts pointing at different things in the score and Steve absorbs it all without really listening to it. Bucky finishes with, “If you can’t keep up, then just drop out and I’ll go without accompaniment.  
Steve grins. “Don’t worry about it. I’m with you till the end of the line.” And Bucky stares at him with a look that is equal parts curiosity and approval.  
Bucky sets up a music stand at the front of the stage and raises his bow to start playing. But Fury interrupts, thank god, because Steve is in no way ready to play this piece. What kind of sick mind came up with this accompaniment?  
“Whoa, whoa, soldier,” Fury says. “Got some questions for you first. Name?”  
“James Barnes.” Bucky lowers his bow.  
“Age?”  
“25.”  
“How long you been playing?”  
Bucky hesitates strongly before answering. “Six months,” and it comes out more like a question than an answer and Steve winces visibly because he can see Fury starting to get irritated. “And I know it’s not very long, but if you’ll just hear me play, I’ll prove you wrong.”  
Fury opens his mouth, and no sound comes out for a moment. Then he starts in on the poor guy. “We are looking for someone to play shows with my personal friend over there, Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers has been playing the piano since he was seven years old. He has been to Juilliard, on full scholarship. You, on the other hand, have been playing for six months, and I’m willing to bet you haven’t gone to school for this. Do you honestly think you can keep up with him?”  
Bucky nods. “Yes, sir.”  
Fury shrugs. “What are you playing?”  
“It’s…an original composition called The Winter Soldier.” Fury waves a hand at him, and Bucky glances over at Steve, who mouths, “Sorry.” Bucky grins at him, and Steve nods in return.  
He raises his bow to the strings and begins playing in a flurry of motion, and Steve has to fight to keep pace with him. How did he overlook the amount of 16th runs near the beginning? The music is wild and furious and Bucky’s hair is flying from the amount of movement he’s making.  
The tone is perfect, Steve realizes halfway through the first page. No squeaks or anything. Not what you’d expect in a fairly new player. And Steve was sure that his violin wasn’t all that great quality, so what business did it have sounding that sweet?  
Somewhere near the two minute mark, the music mellows out, and Steve finally has a chance to relax and listen a little more. The violin has gone soft and slow and almost sinister sounding. Bucky’s face is furrowed in concentration and Steve has a hard time believing he really composed this. But he glances at the top of the page, where just under the title; it reads Composed by James Barnes.  
A little while later, he notices the notes written near the piano part in cramped handwriting. They appear to be apologies for the “shittiness of the accompaniment”, and Steve has a hard time not laughing because how could anyone think this is shitty?  
Then the music shifts again to a very sharp, staccato passage that sounds as if it’s being played by a robot. Bucky’s bow jerks back and forth across the strings sharply, hairs from the bow dangling.  
Then it shifts again and it’s vaguely reminiscent of the first section and Steve is once again struggling to keep up. The last four measures are played by Bucky alone, and the violin keeps repeating the same intervals higher and higher and higher, crescendoing louder and louder until the score ends on a piercing C#.  
Bucky lowers his bow, bows, collects his sheet music, and walks off the stage.  
Ten minutes later, the whole team is seated around the table discussing the applicants. Nat has disappeared somewhere, probably in search of some wine. Steve adores Natasha, but even he’ll admit that she drinks a little too much wine. “It’s Barnes,” Fury says, sipping his coffee. “Never mind that he’s a cheeky little bastard, anyone who can play like that in six months self taught deserves a chance.”  
Hill nods, wisps of hair falling out of her tight bun. It’s been a long day for all of them. Coulson mimics her, looking through notes he’s made. “Steve?” Fury says. “What do you think? Barnes or someone else?”  
Steve thinks. Bucky was definitely the best. Far and away. “Yeah,” he says. “Barnes, definitely.” And that settles it.  
One of the many perks of being five foot nothing and 130 pounds is that Steve gets mugged. A lot. So he’s really starting to regret walking the four blocks home to his apartment alone at night, when he passes by an alley and a shadow moves from out of the dark and towards him. His bad luck almost surprises him. He’s not even a block away from the local theater, which was where auditions were held. Usually it takes longer.  
“Hands up,” the voice says, low and gravelly from smoking one too many cigarettes. It’s a man, he can tell. The man points something at him in the dark, and Steve would have been fooled into thinking it’s a gun if he hadn’t been in this situation so many times before.  
“That’s a water gun,” Steve says, gripping his briefcase full of sheet music tighter. Just because he’s not armed doesn’t mean the man can’t take him out without breaking a sweat. Most people can.  
“Hand over your money!” the guy shouts, his voice ricocheting off the alley walls. God, can this guy get any more cliché?  
“Look, man,” Steve starts, already anticipating how this is going to go down. “I don’t carry any money on me. Look at me. This is the third time this week I’ve gotten mugged. You think I haven’t learned?”  
He’s starting to get angry now, Steve can tell. He’s trying to pull off a successful robbery and Steve just isn’t playing by the universal robbery script of cowering and handing over his stuff. It’s not something Steve has ever been very good at doing, which is why he barely survived his childhood, even with Natasha’s help. And Natasha is nowhere near here, he realizes, and starts to get a little worried. The man throws an uppercut that connects solidly with his nose. An uppercut is not a very serious punch. On a normal person, it will not do a whole lot.  
It nearly knocks Steve over.  
Steve drops his sheet music and looks for something to defend himself with. In desperation, his eyes light on a trash can lid, which he snatches up and holds in front of him. The thug laughs and rips it out of his hands, flinging it like a Frisbee and nearly beheading an innocent passerby.  
Then he shoves Steve to the ground and starts kicking him in the ribs, hard. He thinks he feels something snap in his chest, and his lungs begin burning agonizingly. And that innocent passerby? He had set down his violin case and made his way over to the alley.  
“Hey assbutt,” Bucky Barnes calls, cracking his knuckles loudly. “Why don’t you mug someone your own size?” Meatfist steps away from Steve, shaking out his fingers nonchalantly. Steve tries to warn Bucky, he really does, but all he can get out is a choked sound that is half cough, half sob. He curls his knees into his chest and hopes it’ll be over soon.  
To his left, the fight is drawing to a close. Steve isn’t quite sure who won, facing the other direction as he is. He hopes dimly that Bucky wasn’t hurt too badly.  
The last thing he experiences before blacking out is a pair of hands turning him over, icy blue eyes, and a mouth making words he can’t quite put sound to.  
When Steve wakes up, the first thing he is aware of is a throbbing in his skull like a second heartbeat. The second thing he is aware of is that he is not alone. He is in Natasha’s apartment, in the living room, and he is laid out on one of the couches in his pants and a shirt that is far too big for him. His ribs have been bandaged and his nose has been taped. Someone has been very professional about this, that much is clear. The clock on the wall reads 2:34 am, and Steve is not quite clear on how he got here, but that seems beside the point. Bucky is perched on a chair, feet tucked up beneath him, staring intently at Steve.  
“Hi,” he says.  
Something in Bucky’s core seems to relax. “Hi,” he replies. “You have two broken ribs, two fractured. Your nose isn’t fractured but I taped it just to be on the safe side. Your sheet music is by the door, and your shirt was unsalvageable. Sorry about that. Wanna go on a date?”  
“Hold on,” Steve says. “What?”  
“Do you wanna go on a date. With me.” Bucky repeats all this slowly, as if maybe Steve hit his head during the fight. “If not, it’s totally cool.”  
He pinches the bridge of his nose gently. “It’s 2:30 in the morning. I have been mugged and beaten up. And you’re asking me if I want to go on a date? I’m just checking.”  
“So is that a no?”  
“No.”  
“No, it’s a no, or no, it’s not a no?”  
“The second one.”  
“Good.”  
“Okay.”  
When Natasha closes the door at 5:16, she nearly jumps out of her skin when she sees what’s in her living room. Steve has fallen asleep on the couch, and sometime during the night, Bucky has moved to the floor below Steve. Both of them look uncharacteristically, blissfully happy.  
Natasha shakes her head. “Idiots,” she mutters, and retreats to her room for Tumblr and a nice dose of fanfiction.  
A/N- So, the old guy with the clarinet was supposed to be Stan Lee. He had a cameo. And Natasha is on Tumblr. I found that funny. First Captain America fic, so I’m sure it’s very OOC and derpy.  
But those two adorable idiots. I love it.


	2. Vivace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date actually happens. Yes, I'm just compressing two of my works into one, but it needed to happen.

Steve ties his tie with shaking fingers, looks at himself in the mirror, and gulps. Tonight is the night of his date with Bucky Barnes, violinist, and although he tries not to show it, he is terrified. Though he will never admit it out loud, Steve is actually incredibly insecure. Mostly about his height, but also about playing the piano. It isn’t the most masculine pursuit, he knows, and coupled with his size, it can give people an excuse to make fun.

Not like he’s not used to that.

Steve winces as he accidentally jostles one of his busted ribs. The blasted things are taking what seems like an age to heal, even though Fury has pronounced him fit to rehearse at night.

They’re still trying to figure Bucky out, from a professional standpoint. He can improvise on a theme for what seems like hours on end, but doesn’t know how to play Baa Baa Black Sheep. 

Even Hill knows how to play Baa Baa Black Sheep, and she is one of the least musically inclined people Steve knows, which makes absolutely no sense, given her profession. And although he knows that he should put rosin on his bow, he has no idea why. 

Steve can’t help but wonder what the extent of his education is. He thinks back to a conversation they had a few days ago. Steve had been dusting the keys of the baby grand at the auditorium when Bucky walked over, bow swinging loosely from his fingertips.

“Why do you do that?” he questioned.

Steve set down his bottle of Lemon Pledge and stared at him, rag in hand. “Why do I do what?”

He gestures at the cleaning product lying abandoned. “Why are you wiping it?”

“To clean it,” Steve answers, feeling extremely confused. Bucky nods and starts walking away when Steve calls out, “Hey! How did you learn this stuff, anyway?”

But Bucky just shrugs and keeps going out. “See you tomorrow, Mister Rogers.”

Steve fiddles with his tie, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He knows what he will see. Too square a jaw in too sharp and thin a face. Blue eyes set too wide and a nose that is too strong for his angular face. He has surprisingly good figures, just set in too small a face. If he was only bigger…  
But he’s not, and he’ll just have to accept it. Steve has never been given to flights of fancy.

A knock sounds at the door, and Steve tears his gaze away from the mirror and rushes to the front door, trying to slip his dress shoes on as he does so. “Come in,” he calls, and the door swings open. Steve looks up and meets Bucky’s eyes. To his surprise, they widen slightly and the two of them stare at each other for what feels like forever, but is probably less than thirty seconds.

“Hi,” Bucky says. He is holding flowers. How did he not notice that?

“Hi,” Steve replies, straightening slowly.

“Hi, he says again, and Steve chuckles, But not in a mean way. Bucky smiles lazily, and the pit drops out of Steve’s stomach. “Well,” he drawls, “aren’t we thorough.”

Silence stretches out between them, and Steve is trying to think of something clever to say when Bucky seizes him by the elbow and escorts him out the door. And he barely has time to snatch his keys off the counter before the door closes behind him.

Okay, Steve thinks. This is kind of weird. He’s beginning to have some doubts about Bucky’s well being. He supposes that being a SHIELD agent for any length of time can’t be very good for one’s sanity. He’s got Natasha to go on for that.

Bucky pulls him to his car, a beat up tan sedan, and opens the passenger door. Steve gets in hesitantly, wondering what on earth is going on. They don’t speak until five minutes into the drive, when Steve finally works up the nerve to ask what the hell is going on. “Where are we going?” he says.

Bucky looks over at him, surprise evident in his eyes, as if it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to practically drag another person out of their house, put them in a car, and just start driving away. He has to remind himself that it would be rude to scold, and that is very nearly the only thing that keeps him from starting to shout. Steve closes his eyes and leans his head against the windows.

Bucky exhales shortly. “Oh. Sorry. I thought I told you what we were doing, but I just realized that conversation didn’t actually happen out loud. So I apologize for the kidnapperish vibes.”

Steve tilts his head up and cracks a smile. “S’ fine.”

“Good.”

“So where are we actually going?”

He looks affronted, and Steve has to stifle a laugh. “It’s a surprise,” he says, all injured dignity.

He leans his head against the window again and stares at the passing blurs that are all that’s left of the cars and trees and houses that they pass by. And Steve thinks. Try as he might, he just can’t pin this guy down.

One minute a stuttering buffoon, the next a smooth seducer, the next a would be kidnapper. Are these all Bucky Barnes, or none? Does he change faces as easily as he changes clothes in the morning? Is there even the slightest possibility that Steve has taken up with and willingly gone on a date with a complete sociopath.

Nah.

He completely discounts the thought as part of the paranoia that comes from spending too much time around Natasha. Because Natasha has turned into a total conspiracy nut, after two straight hours with Coulson and Hill. The three of them have this crazy theory about some secret organization called HYDRA that was backing Nazi Germany during WWII.

Steve sighs. Maybe they’re rubbing off on him.

A few minutes later, they arrive at one of the more expensive restaurants in the city, Stark’s. Steve’s jaw drops ever so slightly. He’s not that badly off, but even he knows that there’s absolutely no way he can afford to eat her. He’s about to say so when Bucky forestalls him with a single finger.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re only getting drinks.”

So Steve nods. But inside he wonders how far ahead he has planned this. Steve shakes his head. He really is getting paranoid.

He opens the door, steps out, and looks up at the sign. He is suddenly very glad he decided to wear a suit tonight.

They make their way into the restaurant, stopping by the host stand. The host studies them, then nods at Steve approvingly. He turns his appraising eye on Bucky and the carefully cultivated mask drops into something like barely disguised contempt.

Because Bucky is not wearing a suit. He is wearing dark jeans, a grey sweater, and a pair of black converse. And while this is by no means a disgrace, it is not quite proper to be wearing to a restaurant such as this. The host is about to say something scathing, he can tell, so he speaks up.

“We’re just going to the bar.” And with that, he wraps a hand around Bucky’s elbow and pulls him away from the host and to the bar area.

“I coulda handled that,” Bucy says a little sullenly, like a child being denied a treat. Steve has to resist smiling. Who gave this guy the right to be so adorable?

***

Bucky nearly chokes on his wine. “You’re telling me that little Steve Rogers was a trouble maker?”

Steve’s eyes sparkle with suppressed amusement. “Little Steve Rogers didn’t like bullies, no matter the fact that they all outweighed him by about fifty pounds.” They have finally arrived at the place where they’ll be eating, after getting kicked out of Stark’s five minutes after arriving. It might have had something to do with some creepy little guy who was walking around hitting on women. And Steve might have tried to stop him. And Bucky might have had to drag him out.

But that’s all hypothetical. And nobody can prove it.

“Bet your ma had to patch you up every day,” he comments.

Steve’s grin tightens into something resembling a grimace. “Yeah,” he replies.

His mother has been dead ten years now. To his credit, Bucky notices his discomfort right away. “What? What have I said?”

“Nothing.” Steve fidgets uncomfortably with the napkin lying discarded on the table.

Bucky leans forward and studies his face intently. “No, there’s definitely something. I can tell when people are lying, Mister Rogers.”

He can’t help but smile a little at the unnecessary formality. “Steve.”

He clasps his hands. “Okay. Steve. Why did you all of a sudden look like a death’s head when I mentioned your ma?”

Steve clears his throat. “She’s been dead for ten years.”

The muscles around Bucky’s eyes soften ever so slightly, although he doesn’t break eye contact. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Steve waves a hand. “It’s not a problem. It just took me by surprise.” Then he changes the subject. “So, how did you start learning the violin?”

Bucky is awkward and stiff at first, but he gradually lights up with enthusiasm as he talks about music and Steve can’t help but smile at his obvious passion. He’s always found a love for music to be really beautiful in a person. Which Natasha has tried to take advantage of many a time. She’s made several attempts to set him up with various music lovers over the years. All to no avail, of course. 

He finds himself nodding along and laughing at some of the various escapades Bucky’s gotten himself into, busking on the street. 

“And then this old lady comes up to me and demands to know why I’m not playing Carnegie Hall. And I’m just like, ‘Lady, I just started learning this stuff!’”

“What about your parents? What did they think about you leaving a steady job and going into the arts?”

Bucky smiles, a lying smile that never quite reaches his eyes. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“What?”

“That’s what they told me.”

Steve winces in sympathy. “Ouch. That’s really horrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine. I’m pretty used to it at this point. I never really had much of a childhood.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” he replies, and his hand moves seemingly of its own accord to touch the other man’s wrist comfortingly. He stares at it. He didn’t mean to do that, did he?

Bucky glances momentarily down at Steve’s slim fingers splayed over his bony wrists and smiles involuntarily. “Thanks,” he says, and takes a bit of chicken with his free left hand. Causing Steve to withdraw his hand as if he’d burned it, and he flushes crimson.

They sit in silence after that, each stealing glances subtly at each other. Eventually Steve looks up and asks calmly, “So. What do you think of Director Fury?”

Bucky thinks for a moment. “Um, he seems okay. He’s kinda…intense, don’t you think? How’d the two of you meet, anyway?”

“He was auditioning accompanists for a steampunk version of Sleeping Beauty, and I tried out.”

“And?”

“I didn’t get it, of course. I was sixteen years old at the time. But Fury sent me an email the next day, asking me to come study under a friend of his, Dr. Erskine.”

Bucky starts twiddling his knife with an expert grace. “And was he a good teacher?”

“He was the best teacher I’ve ever had,” Steve says more hotly than he intended to, then resumes his study of the table.

“Was?”

“He was shot during a robbery a couple months ago.”

He freezes. “Oh. Shit, I’m sorry.” Then he changes the subject with little skill, but enough enthusiasm to make it seem natural. “Um…how do you think the show’s coming along.”

Steve flashes a grateful smile at him. “I think we’ll be ready, but we’re going to need some more funding.” He glances sidelong at Bucky. “Unless you want to go without being paid.”

Bucky holds up his hands. “Hey, if I could survive on love of the art alone, I would. But someone’s got to pay my ex-mob landlord.”

He chuckles quietly to himself. “My sentiments exactly. My only question is where we’re going to get the extra money.”

“Someone oughta ask Tony Stark. He’s practically swimming in money.”

Steve pulls out his phone and starts typing. “That’s a good idea. I’m going to tell Fury that.” He sends the message to Fury, and receives a reply less than two minutes later, reading, Meeting with Stark set for Wednesday after rehearsal. You will be expected to speak.

He looks up at Bucky and grins. “The boss loved your idea. We’re meeing with him after rehearsal.

“Great,” he replies, and grins. They finish eating dinner and exit the restaurant, after Steve insists on paying and Bucky has to charm the waitress into giving him the bill. 

The former SHIELD agent drops him back at his apartment, walking him back to the door. Steve unlocks the door, then shuts it behind him with a click. Steve sinks into the carpet, leaning back against the door, a blissful spread across features.

Best. Date. Ever.


End file.
